by Bill Crider
“It’s about Hal Gillis.”
Rhodes held up a hand. He wasn’t surprised that Jennifer had heard the news. She always knew when something happened in the county.
“Stop right there,” he said. “If you know anything about who killed Hal, you’re going to have to tell me, ethics or no ethics.”
“I don’t know who killed him. I don’t have any idea.”
“What, then?” Rhodes asked.
“I might know why he was killed.”
Rhodes thought he had a pretty good idea, too, and he wondered if Jennifer had the same one.
“That’s why you think someone’s following you?” Rhodes asked.
He wondered if the reporter was getting paranoid. He didn’t think anyone would be following her just because she might have some idea of why Gillis had died. He had two or three ideas, and he didn’t think anyone was following him.
“I’m not paranoid,” Jennifer said, “if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I didn’t think you were,” Rhodes lied.
Jennifer grinned. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did. I sound a little paranoid even to myself. I’m probably just overreacting.”
“If you’re having a reaction, something must have caused it.”
Jennifer looked around, but of course she and Rhodes were the only people in sight. The big stockroom was quiet, except for their voices and the sounds of the men opening the boxes on the other side of the area.
“I think someone was skulking around outside my house earlier,” she said.
Rhodes hadn’t heard anybody use the word “skulking” in a while, if ever, but then Jennifer was a writer.
“You didn’t mention that on the phone,” he said.
“Nobody was around then. Quite a few of my neighbors have dogs. There was a lot of barking, and whoever was outside went away. If there was anyone outside at all.”
Rhodes heard a noise on the other side of the pallets, like the sound a shoe sole might make, scraping on the concrete floor.
Jennifer heard it, too. She gave Rhodes a wide-eyed look.
“Somebody’s back there,” she said.
Rhodes could have told her that was exactly the wrong thing to say, but it was too late now. He turned and moved toward the end of the row of stacked pallets as quietly as he could.
He managed no more than a couple of steps before the stacks moved with a splintery squeal. Rhodes turned back toward Jennifer as the upper pallets toppled. He grabbed her and pulled her down and toward the base of the pallets, where they hunkered down and tried to cover their heads as the wooden skids thundered down around them and onto them.
Rhodes tried to protect the reporter, but there wasn’t much he could do. The heavy pallets landed on his back, his shoulders, and his head.
When the pallets stopped falling, Rhodes was pinned by their weight. Jennifer was beneath him. He tried pushing upward and felt a bit of a give at his shoulders. He pushed again.
“Who’s under there?” someone called, and Rhodes heard scraping above him as pallets were shoved aside.
“The sheriff,” Rhodes said. “Get these things off me.”
He pushed upward, and the pallets moved with him. As the workers moved more of them, he was able to stand up. He reached down and helped Jennifer to her feet.
“Are you all right?” he said.
Jennifer looked dazed. “I’m not sure.”
Two men stood nearby. Rhodes recognized them as the two who’d been opening and unpacking boxes.
“Did you see who shoved those things over on us?” he said.
“Nope,” one of the men said. “Just heard ’em falling. Somebody ran out of here, though.”
“Who was it?”
“Didn’t know the fella. Don’t know what he was doing back here. Employees only. What’re you doing back here?”
Rhodes didn’t answer or wait around to hear more. He ran to the double doors, pushed through them, and burst into the shopping area. He saw a woman with a basket full of groceries, and another woman with a basket that held diapers and baby clothes. Neither of them looked as if she’d just pushed a stack of heavy wooden skids on him and Jennifer Loam. Other shoppers were farther away but looked just as innocent.
Rhodes went up to one of the women. “Did you see anybody run out of the stockroom?”
“Nobody but you,” she said.
“I mean before me.”
“No. I was looking for black olives. You don’t know where they are, do you?”
Rhodes told her he didn’t and went to the front of the store. There were two entrances, each with a greeter. He went to the nearest one first. The greeter there didn’t remember anybody who’d left the building in a particular hurry. He’d been occupied with putting a sticker on a returned item and hadn’t noticed anybody for the last few minutes.
Rhodes didn’t have any better luck at the other entrance, even when he asked if the greeter had noticed anybody who hadn’t been pushing a basket or carrying a bag. Whoever had shoved the pallets over had been calm enough to make his escape without drawing any attention to himself.
On his way back to the stockroom, Rhodes walked around the store, looking for familiar faces just in case the pusher had stayed in the store. It was a big store, and it was crowded with people who’d come in to make purchases after work or dinner. Rhodes had a nodding acquaintance with some of them, but he didn’t see anyone who was connected with the murders, at least as far as he knew. That didn’t mean the pusher wasn’t there, skulking around somewhere, but if he was, Rhodes couldn’t find him.
Back in the stockroom, Rhodes checked on Jennifer. She seemed to be fine, with only a few bumps on one arm. Now that he had time to think about it, Rhodes realized that he had a bump on his head and that his back was sore. It would be bruised and colorful by morning, he was sure.
“I think somebody did follow you,” he told Jennifer after he’d thanked the two men for helping him and sent them back to their work. “I missed seeing him.”
“At least you know I’m not paranoid. Somebody must not want me to talk to you.”
“Now all I need to do is find out who that is. Maybe what you were going to tell me will help. Once you’ve told, you shouldn’t be in any more danger. It’ll be too late for anybody to do anything about it.”
“I should have thought of that sooner.”
“I should have told you sooner, but now that you know, what’s the secret?”
Jennifer hesitated. Rhodes shifted his shoulders to work out a little of the soreness that was already setting in. It was plain that even though Jennifer knew something that might help him in his investigation, she didn’t want to violate her ethical code.
“Mr. Gillis was kind of a snoop,” Jennifer said after a while. “Did you know that?”
Rhodes shook his head. Nobody had mentioned it.
“Well, he was,” Jennifer said. “He kept an eye on things out there around his place. It was kind of a hobby with him.”
“Keeping an eye on things isn’t snooping.”
“No, you’re right. I was trying to be nice. He was nosy, and when I say he kept an eye on things, I mean he watched people from his house. He knew what they were up to all the time.”
Rhodes remembered the binoculars. Gillis could have pulled one of the chairs on the second story up to a window and had a good view of the Terralls’ roadside stand and their house, too. He could have seen Garrett’s store, Qualls’s house, and the chicken farm equally well.
No wonder nobody had mentioned that Gillis was watching them. They wouldn’t have known. Gillis would have been careful to keep that kind of thing to himself. People didn’t like it when somebody pried into their lives, and if they found out it was happening, they wouldn’t be happy about it. Rhodes figured that gave everyone he suspected a motive to kill Gillis.
“I see what you mean about knowing why Gillis was murdered,” Rhodes said. “He might very well have known who Robin Hood is. He might even ha
ve known who killed Lester Hamilton.”
“He could have known, all right,” Jennifer said. “That’s not all he knew, either.”
“There’s more?” Rhodes asked.
“Yes, and it’s why I didn’t have an article about the chicken farm in today’s paper.”
Rhodes finally made the connection between Hal Gillis and an ethical problem.
“You see what I mean?” Jennifer asked.
“I think I do,” Rhodes said. “Gillis was your source.”
“Reporters don’t like to reveal their sources,” Jennifer said. “Why don’t we just say that my source was supposed to come by yesterday and tell me what I needed to know for the article today. He didn’t come because he said he couldn’t bring the proof he’d promised. I told him I couldn’t publish without proof. He said he’d have it today.”
“He won’t be showing it to you today.”
“No. He had it, though. He called and told me he did. He said he had an appointment in town and that he’d bring me the proof after he’d taken care of it. The article would have been in tomorrow’s paper, and nobody would have noticed it was a day late, not with today’s news.”
Gillis’s death was the kind of thing that would make anybody forget about the chicken farm.
“Let’s get out of here,” Rhodes said.
25
Rhodes followed Jennifer home and called Hack on the way, telling him to make sure that Jennifer’s house got a regular drive-by from Duke that night.
“What kinda trouble’s she in?” Hack asked.
“Probably no kind at all,” Rhodes told him. “The patrol’s just to make her feel secure.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Hack said.
Rhodes stopped at Jennifer’s house and checked the inside to make sure nobody was waiting for her with an axe, or a bow and arrow. He told her that a patrol car would be coming by regularly all night.
“I appreciate it,” she said. “I hope you don’t think I was silly for worrying.”
“You were right to worry,” Rhodes said. “Somebody was after you, all right.”
“The question is, who?”
“That’s what I’d like to know,” Rhodes said.
* * *
Ivy was waiting up for Rhodes when he got home. He gave her the short version of what had happened, leaving out the falling pallets, and then took a shower. His head started to throb, so he took a couple of aspirin after he’d dried off. He wrapped the towel around his waist and looked at his back in the mirror. The bruises were already turning dark.
“You seem to have forgotten to mention something about your evening,” Ivy said from the bathroom door.
“It’s nothing,” Rhodes said. “There was a little accident with some pallets in the stockroom. I’m fine.”
“I’ll take your word for it. Anything else you forgot to tell me?”
“I didn’t forget. I was just cutting out the stuff you didn’t need to hear.”
“I need to hear everything. You know that. If you’re hurt, I want to know.”
“I’m not hurt. Just a few bruises.”
Ivy just looked at him.
“Okay,” Rhodes said. “I’ll tell you the next time something falls on me.”
“Or anything else.”
“Right. Or anything else.”
“Come to bed now before you collapse.”
“I have to brush my teeth. You know how I hate cavities.”
“You’re a big baby about the dentist, all right. Brush your teeth and then come to bed.”
Rhodes got the toothbrush.
* * *
When Rhodes got up the next morning, he didn’t know any more than he’d known the night before. He’d hoped that somehow his unconscious mind would put all the pieces together while he slept and have the answer ready for him as soon as he got out of bed. It didn’t work like that, however.
Nothing came to him while he and Yancey visited Speedo in the backyard, either. The only change for the better was that the weather had gotten a bit warmer.
As far as Rhodes could tell, it now appeared that almost everyone in Mount Industry had a motive for killing Hal Gillis, or everyone would have if any of them knew that he’d been spying on his neighbors.
Rhodes took Yancey back inside. The little dog skittered through the kitchen and ran off to hide from Sam, who instead of lying in his usual spot was walking around the room. It was, Rhodes supposed, the cat’s two minutes of exercise for the day.
“You don’t look too chipper this morning,” Ivy said.
Rhodes rolled his shoulders, hoping to work out some of the soreness.
“It’s nothing physical,” he said. “I’m just bumfoozled about these killings.”
“You’ll figure out what’s going on,” Ivy said. “You always have.”
Rhodes wished he felt as confident as she sounded.
“The only thing I know is that I’m glad nobody’s running against me this year.”
“You’d win even if someone was.”
“At least I’d get your vote.”
“Always,” Ivy said.
* * *
Ruth Grady had some news for Rhodes when he got to the jail.
“That bow and arrows you found in Hal Gillis’s house?” she asked. “Never been used.”
“How do you know?” Rhodes asked.
“CSI: Blacklin County strikes again,” Hack said.
“It didn’t take any fancy lab work to figure it out,” Ruth said. “All you need to do is take a close look and you can tell the bow’s never even been strung. You want to know what I think?”
“I can tell you without asking,” Rhodes said. “You think it was a plant.”
“Right. You know what else?”
“I’ll bite,” Rhodes said. “What else?”
“I think the reason the quiver had different kinds of arrows is that whoever put them there didn’t know what kind Robin Hood used. He must have thought he could throw us off by buying several kinds and hoping that at least a couple of them would be the right brand. That’s what happened. He bought the major brands and got lucky.”
“Not so lucky,” Hack said. “He didn’t fool you.”
“The important thing,” Rhodes said, “would be fingerprints.”
“If there were any,” Ruth said, “but there aren’t.”
“That’s a clue, too,” Rhodes said.
“Wait a minute,” Hack said. “How is that a clue?”
“See, that’s why you’re behind a desk,” Ruth said. “We trained lawpersons figure out that kind of thing in the blink of an eye.”
“I got it, too,” Lawton said.
“No, you don’t,” Hack said.
“Sure I do. No fingerprints means that somebody wiped it. Why would Hal do that if it was his?”
“Maybe ’cause he didn’t want anybody to know it was his,” Hack said.
“It was in his house. Bound to be his.”
“Unless somebody wiped it and put it there,” Ruth said, closing out the argument. “I think that’s what happened.”
“You sound like you know it for sure,” Hack said.
“Not for sure. I’d say about ninety-nine percent.”
“More like a hundred,” Rhodes said. “Now all we have to do is find out who put it there and why.”
“You don’t think Robin Hood did it?” Lawton asked.
“Robin Hood would know what kind of arrows he used,” Ruth said.
“Sure he would, but he might’ve run out. He might’ve had those others around all the time.”
Lawton had a point, but Rhodes didn’t think that he was right. No need to start an argument about it, though. Rhodes had other things to worry about.
“Any hope you can find out where the bow and arrows came from?” he asked Ruth.
“Very little,” she said. “You can order that stuff from dozens of places on the Internet. We won’t have any more luck tracing them than we did those first arrows. It’
s going to be hard to prove anything against Gillis with these. I think it was just something to confuse us.”
“If that was it,” Rhodes said, “it’s working.”
The phone rang, and Hack grabbed it. Rhodes heard excited jabber on the other end before Hack said, “Slow down. Slow down.”
Whoever was on the line must have taken a deep breath, because Rhodes couldn’t hear what came next. He did, however, hear Hack say, “I’ll send somebody right out there.”
“What now?” Rhodes asked.
“Got some kinda hoo-raw goin’ on at the college,” Hack told him. He looked at Ruth. “Don’t know what it is exactly, but somebody’s boyfriend is mixed up in it.”
Ruth blushed.
Rhodes knew immediately what the trouble was without being told if it involved Seepy Benton. No doubt it had to do with William Qualls, and it was all Rhodes’s fault. He should never have asked Benton to help out.
“I’ll take it,” he said.
“I’m going as backup,” Ruth said.
Rhodes hesitated. He didn’t think he’d need any help if Benton was mixed up in it, but backup might be a good idea anyway.
“Whoever’s goin’, you better get on out there,” Hack said. “They’re all excited about it.”
“We’ll be there in five minutes,” Rhodes said.
When Rhodes arrived at the campus, Ruth was right behind him. They parked side by side and got out. Students crowded the walk in front of the redbrick building, their faces turned up to look at something on the roof.
“You see anybody?” Rhodes asked.
“No,” Ruth said, “but they must be looking at something.”
Rhodes didn’t necessarily think that was true. Let one person look up, and everybody else would do the same. He craned his neck to see if he could spot anybody from the administration. One of the deans, a woman named Sue Lynn King, stood near the double glass entrance doors, and Rhodes started in her direction. Ruth followed him.
“What’s going on?” Rhodes asked when he reached the dean.
Sue Lynn King was a tall, stout woman with dyed black hair and an imposing manner.
“I’m glad you’re here, Sheriff,” she said, raising her voice to be heard over the hum of the students’ incomprehensible running commentary on whatever was happening. “You, too, Deputy. We have something of a situation.”
